Sounds Like a Whisper
by MyWhitelighter
Summary: "Some people say my revolution started the day Logan murdered the love of my life – they were wrong. Somewhere in my wounded heart, my revolution had started today." Before there was a Hero of Brightwall, there was a sheltered Prince with an idealised view of Albion – until Reaver saw it fit to disillusion him. Prequel story to Fable 3.


**Just an idea I've had swimming around my head since I started a new game on Fable 3. Enjoy! **

* * *

poor people gonna rise up and get their share  
poor people gonna rise up and take what's theirs

* * *

"You are as dull as a board James, and no mistake," Elise grumbled as she tugged me by the hand from the castle gardens and closer to Bowerstone Market.

"I don't like wandering around," I persisted, knowing I sounded like a petulant child but caring very little right at that moment. "It gets tiring." Believe me, I owe no aversion to being spoken to by the various peoples of Albion, but one common trait almost every single one of my brother's subjects seem to share is an abundance of extreme nosiness. If I choose to walk around the market I have absolutely no privacy in between children running up for autographs and peasants eager to say hello to me – coupled with the occasional self-righteous aristocrat just _dying_ to know what I'm doing outside of the castle walls, it gets very tiring very quickly.

I love the people, honestly I do, it just gets tiring after a while. If I want to just enjoy the day I have to spend with my best (and indeed only _close_) friend, then wandering around the town just simply isn't the way to do it.

Elise, unfortunately, is irrepressible with an insatiable desire for adventure – mingling in amongst the people and the Market is one of her favourite things to do. I'd been dragged many a time off to lands unknown and far out towns and cities for the sake of an adventure, and it helps that she has me completely wrapped around her finger. Call it pathetic if you like, but if she so much as clicks her fingers I will be running after her as eagerly as Sam runs after me. Sam being my border collie, that is.

"Exactly," Elise sighed, continuing to prance on ahead while pulling me behind her. "You spend so long cooped up in that castle of yours that sometimes you forget there's a world out here just _waiting_ to tire you out."

My ears perked up at this. "I definitely detect an innuendo in there."

Elise looked at me, aghast, and thwacked me lightly on the chest. "You are a royal_ prat_, you know that?"

I laughed heartily as she released my hand and marched on ahead, leaving Sam and I to amble carelessly in her wake. Sam nudged gently into my knee with his shoulder as we walked, and I sighed. "I know, Sam. She's a tough nut to crack, but we'll work it out."

Did I mention I'm completely and irrevocably in love with her?

"Your Royal Highness!" A villager gasped as she walked past me. "It's good to see you, my Lord."

I smiled kindly. "Thank you, and the same to you." I was just heading into the square (where Elise had taken her lute out and started playing for a few enthusiastic children in the centre) when a booming voice called out to me from my left.

"James!" I recognised the gruff tone as that of the barkeep, Rusty, for The Cock in the Crown, which he currently stood in the doorway of. "Get in here, you old renegade!" I cast a lingering look at Elise but decided she could handle herself for a few minutes, whistled for Sam to follow me and headed inside.

Rusty Macmillan was a kindly man, someone who had coloured some of my earliest memories of Bowerstone – back when my father would lead me by the hand through the streets and point out to me all the buildings he'd funded the creation of and all the people he'd helped over his travels and life as a Hero, and then a King. Those times were long, long ago now, but still Rusty remained – as bright faced and as eager to please as ever, and possibly my favourite thing about him was how little he cared for my royal status.

To him, I was simply James, and that was so liberating.

Being probably one of the only landowners in the square who would let Sam into the building, the collie enjoyed his company almost as much as I did. He leapt behind the bar to take a drink from a bowl on the floor as I approached the barkeep; after which the man promptly got me into a headlock and tried to give me a noogie.

In seconds I'd elbowed him firmly in the stomach and he wheezed, releasing me instantly. I raised an amused eyebrow. "I don't know when you're going to get it into your head that I'm not eight anymore, Rusty. I _can_ fight back."

"That damn Walter Beck," Rusty groaned as he made his way back behind the bar, narrowly sidestepping Sam in the process. "_Combat training_. Hardly necessary for a Prince, is it?"

"I like it," I defended, eyebrows furrowing. "It gives me something to do. And I like to think that if Albion were ever under attack, I could be out at the front of Logan's army." I may not have inherited the Power of Will, but I could be a Hero – just like my father. The stories the townspeople always used to feed me as a young boy about the powerful man I could scarcely remember, coupled with Walter's accounts of bountiful victories and crushing defeats over the years served only to nurture my imagination and my vision of him.

_Teach me to be a Hero_, I would always say to Walter. Every single time.

Rusty barked with laughter at the suggestion, and I gave him a mildly affronted look. He had the good grace to look guilty after that, but was still trying to suppress a grin. "Sorry, Jim. I jus' find it hard to believe Logan'd let you go _anywhere_ to fight with a sword."

I ground my teeth together in irritation; it may be an annoying truth, but a truth it was all the same. "I could handle myself," I glared at a stain on the wall as if it were my elder brother, the King of Albion, himself.

"I don't doubt it," Rusty replied sagely, dragging an old cloth back and forth on the counter to clean it. "Your brother'd need a little more convincing." As if spotting my sour look he flicked the rag at me to stop me burning holes in his wall with my eyes. "He's jus' protective, that's all. You'll find out one day that your brother is a lot of things, but looking out for you is something ain't no one in Albion gonna begrudge him of."

"He looks at me like I'm still a child," I sighed, running a hand through my hair. I was just recently gone eighteen; _officially_ an adult in Albion terms.

Rusty smiled secretively. "I know someone who doesn't."

Before I could ask who an indignant voice cut over the general chatter of the patrons in the tavern. "So this is where you've been hiding!" Elise called disapprovingly from the door. "The pub, James, _really_."

I could only shrug completely unabashedly. "Take a man to town and he'll do what a man does."

"A _man_?" Intoned a surprised voice from behind me. "Since when has the darling young Prince James become a _man_?" The man who'd spoken chortled at his own joke before finishing the remnants of his tankard. Elise and I took in his appearance with a measured wariness, brought on by experience.

He wore a pure white suit, unblemished by any of the dirt those who wandered through Bowerstone usually managed to accumulate, with a brown waistcoat littered with gleaming gold broaches. At his waist unmistakably sat a small pouch with a gun, supposedly one of the most dangerous in Albion, which I tried not to survey enviously as it rested so proudly on display. Brightly polished black boots stood out against the dirt on the floor of the tavern, and a sleek cane hung from one hand. His hat wouldn't have stood out in the Old Quarter, if you ignored its abnormal height and the goggles lying around the rim – this coupled with the rest of his clothing made for a very unique ensemble. I didn't need to look into his gleaming, sunken eyes, full of an age his body didn't reflect, the gauntness of his pale skin or the cold upturn of the mouth to know who this was.

Reaver.

My father had known him, I knew that much – he'd met him on one of his many adventures prior to him being crowned the King of Albion. As a boy I sometimes heard his name in conversation, but often confused him with the tales of the legendary old Guildmaster I'd always heard stories about, by the name of Weaver. Now I knew the two men were nothing alike.

Still, it wasn't until my father's death that Reaver had entered my courtly life, appearing from seemingly nowhere with a keen eye and a sharper mind, kneeling before my brother's throne and offering all that he was to the crown. That was the only time I'd ever seen him in person. Since then I'd only ever known him by reputation – overnight he became a magnate of Bowerstone, with an entire industry under his belt; he was ruthless, despised by most for implementing harsh economic and industrial policies and I knew of some who hated him for the way he ran his factories. I didn't really know much about it – I tried my best to stay out of Logan's business, really, but I knew Elise liked to stay aware of the goings on. If the way she glared at him was a testament to anything, it certainly showed me that she despised him just as much as the rest of Bowerstone seemed to. That was enough to make him wary of the man.

As it was, he'd just accused me of being a boy.

"Over the winter," I answered carefully. "I turned eighteen then."

Reaver's mouth twisted in a way that reminded me sickeningly of a hobbe, musing over its latest kill. "It isn't just our age that makes us _men_, my boy," he threw a few coins down on the counter which Rusty collected frigidly, refusing to look at him. "It is our experiences. Of which you, my dear, have very few beyond the stone of your beloved castle walls."

This angered me for some reason that I couldn't quite explain. It was more than my honour being impeded on in front of Elise, it was something else; something more... sinister.

"Quaint as ever, Macmillan," he directed towards Rusty before turning back to me. "And do let me know when you become a man, won't you, my liege?" The way the title dripped from his lips made my toes curl. I had a feeling I wouldn't, and the menacing edge of his smirk suggested he knew the same. "Perhaps we could go into business." He took off his hat as he passed Elise and offered a low, suggestive bow, grabbing her hand and kissing it before she could protest – this infuriated me even further. "Tatty bye, my loves." And he departed.

Elise drew her hand back as if burned and simply spluttered in outrage. I was more than prepared to charge right into the square and give the man a what for, but I felt Rusty's firm hand on my shoulder before I'd made it three steps.

"He ain't worth it, Jim," he said quietly. "You put up with men like Reaver, but you don't give 'em any more of your time than they take already."

"Why does he _exist_," I spat before I could help it. The man was as slippery and as fickle as any I'd ever seen – and the way he looked at Elise made me want to slam my fist into a wall.

Elise meanwhile had rushed behind the counter to wash her hand. "I think I need a bath," she called in disgust back over to us. "I feel violated."

She bunched up her skirts in one hand and stormed past me and out of the tavern, and Rusty jerked a thumb suggesting I head after her. Sam leaped up and bounded after me.

"Elise, wait," she was just passing the statue in the centre when I grabbed her hand and pulled her back towards me – I was surprised to see angry tears in her eyes, a rage burning in there that I'd never once seen in her usually kind hearted and tender green orbs. "Do you want me to walk you home?" I asked hesitantly.

"No," she got out in a clipped tone. "I want to find that man and strangle him until his eyes bulge out of his sockets."

I couldn't help but share the sentiment. "The way he looked at you," I fumed, "like you were a piece of meat or something."

She looked surprised at my anger. "No, James – the way he spoke to _you_. Claiming you weren't a man, or – or saying you should _go into business_." Her other hand clenched at her side. "It just rubs me up the wrong way. I could _kill_ him, I really could."

I was touched by the fact that what seemed to be making her so angry was what Reaver had said, not what he'd done to her, and I was briefly overcome by a rush of affection for her. My hand tightened its grip on hers by way of the thanks that I couldn't quite give voice to.

At this she seemed to make her decision and turned to me quickly, placing her other hand on my arm in frustration. "Oh, James – let's go to Bowerstone Industrial."

I blinked. "What?"

"You heard what he said, about you having no experience or whatever," her eyes narrowed inadvertently. "Let's show him, James, _Avo_, let's show him!" I could see her expression was filled with a fierce determination, and again I was touched at how far she was willing to go for me, but it was hardly necessary.

"I don't think that's such a good idea..." I frowned, feeling uneasy. I could count on one hand the amount of times I'd been down to Bowerstone Industrial, and none of them were without Logan strictly supervising me to make sure I stayed out of trouble.

Don't immediately judge me or put me down as having some kind of strange brother complex, but if it weren't for Logan I'd probably be a very different man. When mother was murdered by mercenaries when passing through Millfields, he was all I had – father, who was already old and very ill, was too overcome with grief and died soon after. Almost overnight Logan became both a father and mother to me, and for a nine-year-old their parents are their _world_. I had nannies to look after me of course, but Logan was family – and family was what was important to me, what my father had taught me to value as important.

So of course I knew Rusty was right, and he had a right to be protective of me; he never wanted me to befall the same fate as mother, so you could see I'd lived a somewhat... sheltered existence.

What got to me the most about what Reaver had said was that he was _right_.

"Why not?" Elise's eyes sparkled and I could feel the excited tension in her hands. "It's _perfect_." She was clearly very proud of her own cleverness.

I hesitated. "It's dangerous there," I said, but the argument sounded weak even to me.

"Says who?" She raised an eyebrow. "Says _Logan_? Says the man I have to _beg_ whenever I want to take you out of Bowerstone?" I blinked, not quite understanding. "Of course he'll tell you Industrial is dangerous, he doesn't want you to leave."

"He wouldn't lie," I argued.

"He might exaggerate," she let go of my arms to lean down and pat Sam on the head, who was sitting patiently beside us. "Who's going to hurt us there, really? A factory worker? A common thief?" She sighed. "Or do you _want_ Reaver to be right?"

Here I clenched my jaw and I knew she was baiting me – but what did I say? All that about snapping fingers and me going running? It was only the stories I'd been fed about Bowerstone Industrial all my life that had stopped me from agreeing from the very start; of children snatched in the night, men stabbed to death outside the local tavern; of dirt, impoverishment and the feral workers of the factory, but Elise had me questioning the legitimacy of those claims. Perhaps she was right about Logan, and he'd exaggerated – perhaps all that existed there were men and women like Elise and I, trying to make a living and provide for their family.

Then there was Reaver to consider, and I wanted nothing more than to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off the man's face and prove him wrong. Maybe it was about time I got that sense of adventure notion that Elise was always harping on about.

"Well I'm not going dressed like this," I said finally, staring down at the practical Prince suit Jasper had picked out for me that morning. "We'll stand out like a sore thumb."

Elise's eyes lit up in delight. "Don't worry," she grinned. "I have just the thing."

* * *

The Industrial district was like a whole other world. I could scarcely remember the last time I'd been there and what it had been like, so my expectations had amounted to a huge zero besides all the tales that had been fed to me that I was yet to decide if they were or weren't fabricated. It was in part everything I'd imagined – dark, eerie, with a sense of anticipation imbibed in every building, as if one tip of balance might send everything careening into some sort of uproar. There was a sense of quiet that went beyond the loud clanging of machinery, as if the people as one decided not to speak to each other through some silent form of protest.

There was something else there, too, that I stupidly hadn't anticipated; desperation. Desolateness. Every face was hollow and sunken, every gaze hopeless and crushingly defeated incurring me with a sense of terrible, terrible guilt. Logan may be the King of Albion, but for all intents in purposes they were still my people, and I'd turned a blind eye to the suffering and hardship of the people of Industrial citing a danger my brother had probably lied to me about.

"It's... terrible," Elise had murmured in horror, stroke wonder, after we'd left the bright cobbled streets of the Market behind us. I couldn't think of anything constructive to say, and felt she'd almost summed up all I was feeling in those two words.

No matter that it was the middle of the day the streets were still dark, the smog and dirt being pumped out of the funnels of the factories permeating every space, leaving it feeling distinctly brown and any occupants feeling dirty at all times – I already felt so and I'd only been there a few moments. The pollution was so extreme that even the river to our left had turned an acrid green colour, so vastly different from the streaks of cerulean blue that passed through the Market. I wouldn't dare stick a toe in the water through Industrial, where I had no problem swimming in the Market.

Every house felt more ramshackled and crooked than the last, dirtied by the tainted air and all possessing an odour I'd identified as urine early on – that was what had first hit my nostrils as we neared the district. The smell of uncleanliness, of natural body odours and excrement, and if I was honest with myself I didn't want to spend any more time there than what I already had. Selfish as I was I could have returned to my castle and my life of comfort and forgotten I'd ever set foot in Industrial.

But I thought of my father, and what he would have done, so I stood strong and took Elise's hand.

I'd left Sam in Rusty's care, feeling like he wouldn't quite be at home in the Industrial District even amidst his protestations that he shouldn't leave my side. Elise had still owned some workers clothes from back when her mother lived in Industrial (born and raised), and had worked as a labourer before a wealthy bureaucrat had fallen in love with her and whisked her away to a fulfilled life in the Market – part of the reason, I'm sure, that Elise was so empathetic with the people here. Why she was so much more concerned with their wellbeing than I had ever been, but I was starting to see the light.

Even then, we still stood out. We may have been wearing the right clothes, but they were hardly in the right condition – washed, clean, and devoid of any of the usual stains, so we became a target instantly for beggars littering the sides of the streets.

"Please," one had said, "please, my wife is ill, I need to buy medicine."

"I need to eat," sobbed the one who reached out and grabbed the hem of my trousers. "_Please_." I had discreetly pressed a gold coin into her eager hands, not wanting to draw attention to ourselves but so desperately wanting to end the pain in her voice.

"Help me."

"I just need some bread."

"My children are dying, sir, _please_."

I wanted to throw myself into the river and drown for my ignorance and my worriless existence.

"What are we hoping to achieve here, Elise?" I asked finally in a strained voice, after a time of wandering and just taking in the desolation around us as we crossed the river. This wasn't about my pride anymore, this was real.

She turned back to me, eyes haunted and afraid and I had a feeling she had about as much of an idea as me. "Help." I didn't bother asking how. I was pretty sure she didn't know. And I couldn't help thinking even as we walked that this was Reaver's domain; this was Reaver's kingdom, outside of Logan's jurisdiction, because if my brother knew the extent of the suffering people of Bowerstone Industrial, he would do something to help. He was my brother, and I just _knew_ he would.

We came across an iron gate with two 'R's' etched in as a symbol at the top, and even as we paused to look at each other we were both thinking the same thing – this was Reaver's factory, or at least his most important, and without even needing to discuss it we had skirted into the courtyard within. The stories of where the poverty of the Industrial district began all converge in the same place: Reaver Industries.

If we were looking to help some people, somehow, this would be the place to go.

"I have been neglectful!" Boomed a familiar voice from above, and without thinking I grabbed Elise's hand and pulled the pair of us behind a crate. The last thing we needed was for the slimy bastard to recognise us in his district. "In my travels back to my mansion and indeed my trips to court, I regret to inform you that my usual watchful eye has slipped shut." The cane in his right hand tapped onto the railing of the balcony he stood on, from a higher floor of the castle.

"I have not been _fair_ to you, my dear workers," I heard mutinous whispers of protest all around us as a crowd gathered to listen to him speak. Reaver's eyes hardened. "As, in my absence, you have not been fair to me." With another tap on the stone balcony, the crowd was parted and two men I recognised as some of the Royal Guard stepped through, holding a ragged man between them I could now recognise as being one of the factory workers.

"This man, saw it fit to rifle through the papers in my office, hoping to find his_ contract_, I am sure," here Reaver laughed as if he'd said a great joke, "and remove himself from my employ. Now _why_," he continued, looking around the crowd as the man in the centre struggled between the two guards holding firmly onto each arm. "Would he want to do that? When I am so _good_ to you all – I provide work, shelter and all the essentials to maintain your lives. Are you _dying_? No? Then why," Reaver's mouth twisted into a cold smile, "are you so ungrateful?"

"You're a monster!" Spat the man as he struggled, and Reaver laughed. "Everyone thinks it!"

"That accusation offends me. And perhaps, if this is an opinion shared by the whole district, I should start to live up to my reputation?" A few around us lifted their voices in outcry; some swearing off his opinion entirely, afraid of what else Reaver might do, and others crying abuse at the man on the balcony, a speck of white purity in amongst all the dirt and the grime around him. Reaver took it all in with a steely eye, before uttering two words. "Punish him."

There was a ripple of a gasp through the crowd as the man was thrown forward, his shirt torn from his shoulders and Elise and I looked on in horror. One of the guards took what looked like a whip from his belt and wasted no time in laying lashes on the man's back as he cried out in agony.

I felt sick.

Elise, as I looked at her, had turned away entirely with a hand clamped over her mouth. I lifted my gaze to Reaver, who stood overlooking it with a cold blooded ruthlessness, shouting out nonsense about how it was his fair retribution, and he should be an example to all on how to behave in his factory. It took a few more screams and punishment that didn't look like they'd end before I couldn't take it any longer.

"Stop!" I yelled, as I jumped out from behind the crate we'd been hiding behind. "Let him go!" The guards looked back at me in surprise and I held up a hand to Reaver. "Just – stop," I finished weakly as I watched Reaver's mouth curl in triumph. One of the guards recognised me and snapped to a begrudging attention, and the other quickly followed suit, releasing the man.

"Well, well, _well_," Reaver's voice was positively radiating unadulterated delight. "If it isn't the beloved Prince of Albion, come to walk amongst his people." I ignored him and knelt beside the man.

"Are you alright?" I murmured, but the man was trembling so fiercely I doubted it, and he seemed unable to speak.

Reaver wasn't finished. "To what do we owe the pleasure, your Highness? Don't tell me you took my poor joke to _heart_ now, did you?" He tutted lightly.

"Be quiet, Reaver," I snapped up at him, surprising myself at the authoritative nature of my tone as I slung the man's arm around my shoulder and lifted him unsteadily to his feet.. "Or I'll have you thrown off that balcony." The two guards looked at each other uneasily, as if not sure who to obey if it came down to a clash of orders between Reaver and myself.

"You're in luck, my dear workers. Your King may be as unsympathetic as I, but at least your Prince possesses a sensitive streak – and I have brought him straight to you," he held up his hands in a reception of the gratitude he wasn't receiving. "You see how _good_ I am to you all? Now, before our Kingdom loses money at your idleness," he waved in a way the people around me apparently found familiar as they scurried back to the various posts they'd left vacant. "Back to work.

"You're more than welcome to stay, my liege, and take a look around. I could organize a guided tour if you felt it might better acquaint you with my domain," My glare was enough of an answer to that. "I'm sure it'll be a thrilling _experience_ for you." I clenched my jaw and he could tell he'd struck a nerve delightedly. "Tatty bye, your Highness." And he turned, walked back into the factory and shut the door without a second glance.

In seconds Elise was by our side also helping the poor man to move away from the crowds, groaning in earnest as we helped him away from prying eyes. "He needs help," I said immediately as we set him down near one of the bridges. A beggar nearby eyed us curiously. "Are they any doctors that live near here?"

The worker let out a bitter laugh, which rapidly turned into a hacking cough. "No doctors," he insisted, hissing in pain but slowly regaining himself as he twisted his neck to take a look at the scratches. "Just booze." At first I thought he was referring to the antiseptic qualities of certain wines, but then realised he was simply thinking about drowning away the pain. I didn't know how to respond to that and looked at Elise helplessly.

"Well thanks an' all, your Highness," he said it with a lot more ferocity than I would've expected for a man whose life I may have just saved. "But my lord and master says I've gotta get back to work." He stood and wavered dangerously, shaking off our hands that reached out to steady him. "Was awful nice o' you to visit."

He glared daggers at the pair of us and stumbled away, back in the direction of the factory.

"That was a good thing you did," Elise started hesitantly.

"He _hates_ me. Do they all hate me?"

Did they all despise me for my ignorance of their suffering? Was I just as bad as Reaver in their eyes, for living a life of comfort and doing nothing to help them? It made me feel ill, it really did. The whole district left an acrid taste in my mouth.

She laid a comforting hand on my arm. "I'm sure they don't, James." I don't think I believed her. "We should head back," she finished quietly, looking back in the direction we'd come.

"No." I surprised myself with the definitive nature of my answer. I just couldn't go back, mother of Avo I had to _do _something. And I knew exactly what. "We're going to find that man's contract and burn it."

* * *

Sneaking into the factory was a lot easier than I thought it would be – it turned out the Royal Guards left in Reaver's employ tended to patrol the whole area instead of just the ins and outs of the factory; those were monitored by factory supervisors employed by Reaver to keep the workforce going. The factory doors were left open, in fact, and we got in with no consequences besides a few odd looks from the occasional worker who caught us climbing the staircase in the back.

A few well distributed gold coins later (an advantage the other man had not had at his disposal) and we were able to get past the supervisors, ducking behind the odd piece of grotesque machinery whenever we heard Reaver's voice – he liked to take it upon himself to monitor the workers while walking through the factory, whipping those who were slacking back into place. I've said it once and I'll say it again; he's a sadistic, money-making bastard, and I have no idea why Logan would even bother consorting with him.

He'd just whipped past us and headed down the metal stairs leading to the factory floor, his office left unattended, and we took our chance. On trying the door I cursed. "It's locked," I scowled. Clearly he'd learnt from last time.

"Just give me a minute," Elise murmured, pulling a hairclip from the back of her head and slipping into the lock. I watched in fascination as she fiddled around for a few moments, before something _clicked_ and she grinned triumphantly.

"I would never have pegged you for a lock pick," I remarked.

"I think you'll find I'm full of surprises."

Without preamble we opened the door, and were met with stacks upon stacks of paper. The office was crammed full of official looking documents strewn all over the floor and piled neatly in equal measure, and it was at this point that we realised searching for the contract of just one man (who we'd discovered was named Timothy Bradshaw before heading into the factory) would prove near impossible. Still, we shared a meaningful look and set to work immediately.

We quickly found this task was made even more difficult by the fact that there was absolutely _no_ organization system within Reaver's office. Paper was all pretty much placed wherever there was space. Promises lay in amongst records of business deals which were scattered around hundreds upon hundreds of contracts for employ – that, as my newfound impression of Reaver suggested – they were probably coerced into signing in the first place. They were all paid virtually nothing and worked excruciatingly long hours, so much so that just imagining it made me feel tired. I couldn't even begin to relate to what these people were going through.

"James," Elise's voice caught my attention as she stood, eyes fixed on a piece of paper in the middle of Reaver's desk. "Look at this." I did as I was told and walked back to her, looking over her shoulder at it.

**REAVER INDUSTRIES, OWNR. REAVER, MILLFIELDS, ALBION**

**I, King Logan I of Albion, hereby consent to the use of child labour in the industrialized district of the capital of my kingdom, Bowerstone. I understand the consequences that this will behold for my people, and in sound state of mind state that every child above the age of six may be indoctrinated for work in the factories from this day forthwith. No child may be exempt from this decree. I give my full and explicit permission for Reaver Industries to make use of this ruling to vastly improve production and net export rates for every area of ownr. Reaver's corporation.**

**Signed ...**

I blinked, for a moment frozen in total surprise. What was I supposed to make of that? _Children_? Outside in the factories? A factory like the one we had just crept around, full of dirt and grime and labour-intensive work that should be no place for any citizen of Albion, let alone children. This was what Reaver was planning; for him, it was all about making a profit, and the idea of it made me so angry I could've ruined the office then and there.

"That's disgusting," Elise was quivering in what I could only assume was infuriation too.

"That's Reaver," I muttered.

"And this," she picked up another piece of paper from further along. "This is showing plans to reduce pay even further for the next six months – which will of course turn into something permanent, won't it?" I was beginning to get an idea of how this factory was being run, but something clicked in my head.

I turned back to her with a smile. "But don't you see?" She frowned up at me, not understanding. "Logan won't sign this – he's the King, if _anyone_ can put a stop to this, he can." Elise didn't look so sure. "Reaver will make his proposal to instate child labour and Logan will take one look and never put his name on that dotted line." It was all so clear to me at that moment and I couldn't help but feel satisfied that we had the up on Reaver, but it didn't last long.

"Your highness," came a voice from the door, and we turned to see one of the factory workers bowing her head respectfully. "I should warn you – Reaver'll be back in a matter of moments." Panicked, we dove back to the door, but the worker without question grabbed my hand and I grabbed Elise's as we started to move and we ran along the short expanse of railing before turning sharply into a room.

Or what I'd assumed was a room at first, but actually turned out to be some sort of cubby hole. A gap in the brickwork just big enough for a handful of people to congregate, and comfortable enough for the three of us to slip inside and remain unseen unless you were standing on the opposite side of the room.

"We call this the hidey-hole," the worker said, "it's the only place we can get a break from the supervisors, if only for a minute." She suddenly looked embarrassed and mumbled out an apology for dragging us so unceremoniously.

"It's no problem," Elise was quick to reassure her. "We wouldn't have wanted to be discovered in there. We're very grateful, thank you."

"What did you say your name was?" I asked.

"Sue," she blushed. We stood in silence for a moment, and I kept a watchful eye on the railing outside, waiting for Reaver to head into his office so we could escape from the hidey-hole and regroup. Whatever that meant. "Is it – is it true?" Sue's quiet voice cut across my thoughts.

"Is what true?"

"That they're making child labour official," she swallowed fearfully and I glanced at Elise, just as bemused as I was.

"What do you mean 'official'?"

Sue brushed some dirty hair from her eyes, embarrassed as if she'd said too much. "Well everyone does it," she began, "or most people do anyway. When there ain't enough money to support a whole family on just the parents' earnings, most have to send their kids to the factories to earn too." The revelation of the idea of child labour was one thing, but the realization that it was happening _already_ shook me to the core. "Word on the street is that Reaver's making it official. All kids hafta work." She looked up at me with shining eyes. "Is it true?"

"It won't be," I muttered, "my brother will put a stop to this. He'd never let this continue."

Sue looked as if she wanted to say something else, but hesitated – I was used to this happening, most around me chose to watch their tongues and I appreciated. She settled for a different tactic. "I saw what you did out there with Timothy."

I shrugged – it didn't feel like much of an achievement to me.

"No matter what your brother does, you've a lot of friends in Bowerstone Industrial, my lord," she continued in earnest. "There's a lot of us who support you. If the King can't change things for us, we know you can. It's why you've come today, isn't it?"

_What are we hoping to achieve here? _

_Help._

"Yes," I said after a pregnant pause, realising the magnitude of what I was committing to but not regretting it in the slightest. "Yes, I'm going to change things." I was going to make things better for Logan's people. I was going to make things better for _Albion_. I didn't think I'd ever been so sure or so fiercely absolute about anything in my life prior to that very moment. I spotted approval in Elise's eyes, but that was nowhere near the only reason I was saying so. I _meant_ it.

Sue let out a relieved breath and was about to open her mouth when I heard Reaver's loud and presumptuous voice float over to us, but it was what, and _who_ it was accompanied by that had me darting from the hidey-hole to confront them. I spotted the swish of his royal cloak, the clank of his boots on metal and the glimmer of the crown upon his head, if hearing the low notes of his voice wasn't enough for me to recognise him.

"Logan!" I called from further down the railing and he turned in surprise, eyes widening before narrowing in a frown as he realised that it was me. The clothes probably didn't help. I didn't care – I had to talk to him before Reaver escorted him into his office, had to try and follow through on some of my promise to Sue. I had so much faith in Logan's impending refusal of the proposal, but I wanted him to know what he was going in there to see first. "I need to talk to you."

"I thought you said you were going to the Market today?" He started, his eyes dangerous and I faltered slightly.

"Ah, your highness!" Reaver smirked and addressed me from beside him. "So you _did_ decide to take me up on my offer of the guided tour, how wonderful. I do apologise, your majesty," he said to Logan, "I was just dying to show the young Prince around my factories and lured him away from where he should be this afternoon."

Logan didn't look pleased about it, but took the explanation with an inclination of his head to the man. I, on the other hand, was totally baffled. So it wasn't totally untrue, but what was surprising was that Reaver was bailing me out of potential trouble with Logan. It just didn't seem... congruent with my interpretation of his personality.

"Now, shall we?" He placed a hand on the King's shoulder to push him towards the office but I hastened to carry on.

"Just – just before that, could I have a word, Logan?"

To his credit, he did seem to consider this. "Finish your tour," he answered in a steely voice. "And go home. This is no place for a child." He turned back to Reaver and with a swish of his cloak was following him into his office.

The words stung, _really_ stung. I knew Logan still thought of me as a child, I'd told Rusty that much, but I suppose I assumed if I showed him I could handle myself in Bowerstone Industrial he might factor that in to his opinion of me. Evidently I was wrong. I marched after them in the direction of the office, irritated to have been brushed off so easily, but Reaver met me at the door.

"Disillusion yourself, my liege," he hissed in a smug tone, opening the door just a little bit wider so I could see Logan – my brother, the King of Albion, signing the consent form for child labour that Elise and I had stumbled across earlier. "Have a _wonderful_ day." With that, Reaver waved and shut the door in my face.

I stood in silence staring at the panelled wood of the door, trying to process what I'd just witnessed. All my faith in Logan, all of my belief in his righteousness and his benevolence, and it crumbled right before my eyes. I knew he had to make harsh decisions to keep the economy going. I knew he had to make unpopular choices for the sake of helping the kingdom. But never, _never_ in a million years, did I think he would consent to sending children to work in the factories.

Maybe Reaver was right and I was the one who'd been fooled this whole time – I was the one who needed disenchanting about him, as it were. The one who looked up at him as if light shone from his very being. Everyone else seemed to know already. Elise, Rusty, Reaver – Sue, a simple factory worker who'd probably never met Logan in her life. I was the one who'd had wool pulled over my eyes, his greatest deception to date.

_'You'll find out one day that your brother is a lot of things, but looking out for you is something ain't no one in Albion gonna begrudge him of.'_

_'No matter what your brother does, you've a lot of friends in Bowerstone Industrial.'_

_'Of course he'll tell you Industrial is dangerous, he doesn't want you to leave.'_

_'I, King Logan I of Albion, hereby consent to the use of child -_

"James?"

I whirled back around to see Elise staring up at me in earnest, and I remembered myself. I simply shook my head in quiet defeat, no longer wanting to pursue the mission we'd set out on as fervently as I had only minutes earlier. To her credit, she seemed to understand this – her bright green eyes open and full of a compassion I so desperately needed, to a point where I felt like just throwing my arms around her and burying my head in her neck. Instead she took my hand and led me silently out of the factory, away from Reaver and Logan, and through the entire smog-ridden district before I'd really registered what was really going on.

The smoke slowly receded, colours except rusty browns and washed out greys returned and the buildings became sharper and sturdier, and I could feel myself relax a little – still, Elise and I didn't talk on the way home. Just held hands in silence until we reached her house and had a chance to change out of the workers clothes we'd been wearing, before resuming as we walked back to the square by the clock tower.

Sam came bounding out towards us from the open doorway of The Cock in the Crown. I knelt down and greeted him with a sort of detached apathy, which he seemed to sense as his eager tail fell between his legs forlornly.

I just couldn't believe it – any of it. The weight of all the things I'd learned that day settled in my chest like a dead weight. There was the extent of the impoverishment of Bowerstone Industrial, worse than anything I could've imagined and making me feel guilty beyond comprehension, and then there was _Logan_. The man who had spent half of my life raising me, who I depended on, who I cared about – he was none of what I'd thought he was. He was just as heartless as I'd ever assumed Reaver was, I'd just been too blind to see it.

Too drugged up on the romantic notions of my father's legacy.

"You mustn't blame yourself for any of that," Elise rested a hand on my shoulder as she spoke softly. "And you're certainly not a fool."

She leant forward and pressed a lingering kiss to my cheek – ordinarily I would have been overjoyed by the gesture, but as it was my heart jumped somewhat half-heartedly in my chest. At some point in the next few minutes she left me with Sam, but I almost didn't notice. We stood together and started the long walk back up to the castle alone, just my faithful companion and I.

Well, I remember thinking bitterly, if nothing else, Reaver had been right. A dose of real life experience had made me feel at least ten years older. In that dark and dreary factory I'd promised change to an innocent worker, and I was determined to follow that through – someday I was convinced I'd get an opportunity. I would keep my head down and tune myself in with the will of the people and, eventually, children would be free to live as happily and as carefree as I had.

Some people say my revolution started the day Logan murdered the love of my life – they were wrong. Somewhere in my wounded heart, my revolution had started today.

* * *

don't you know  
they're talking 'bout a revolution  
it sounds like a whisper

* * *

**The song credited is "Talkin' Bout a Revolution" by Tracy Chapman. Soo I've been thinking of writing a full length fic based on the plot of Fable 3 with James as the revolutionary - if there's enough interest, I'll do it. :D Let me know what you think, and thanks for reading!**


End file.
